


color my grey heart

by lokidreamsinbw



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Dark and Twisted, M/M, bank teller/cashier loki, bankrobber thor, dare is say happy ending, has a slight theme of having a death wish, ride or die - Freeform, some self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 12:01:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14873388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokidreamsinbw/pseuds/lokidreamsinbw
Summary: Loki lives his grey life working as a bank teller in his boring routine. Being taken hostage in a bank robbery shakes things up a little.





	color my grey heart

**Author's Note:**

> written as a tumblr prompt fill for bankrobbers AU ride or die.

“What the fuck was that, huh.”

Thor presses the revolver’s barrel into Loki’s orbital bone. He has Loki pinned to the wall—forefinger pushing on his windpipe from the right, thumb plunged deep into his jugular.

Thor still has his black gloves on. You put on gloves like these when you handle dead bodies at the fucking morgue.  Handling a gun with them on is hard. You can’t feel the pressure you apply to the trigger. Might end up putting one in this guy’s head by accident. Or not. Cause what he did for Thor makes no sense and—

“What are you,” Thor digs his fingers in and Loki gasps, tilting his head back because he can’t breathe, “police?”

Loki grabs Thor’s wrist. Squeezes his fingers around the big bones there.

Thor digs the barrel in. It presses into the side of Loki’s left eye. His lashes stick to the barrel, wet.

“Special forces, what.”

Loki’s lids spasm when he tries to blink and close his eye with the metal in there pushing against his eyeball.

Thor cocks the gun.

Three jumpy blinks.

Thor loosens his grip on Loki’s neck a little bit. Pushes his head to the side with the gun.

Loki’s temple pressed to the egg yolk-colored motel wallpaper. A tear slides into his ear.

Sunshine in the room. Silence in the hallway.

“I was bored,” Loki says in a tiny voice.

***

Things you have to do as a bank teller:

1.       Handle boring financial situations.

2.       Keep your station clean at all times (use wipes to wipe off the counter when the clients aren’t looking. Dispose of junk they leave behind such as gum wrappers, receipts from the grocery store, price tags from a newly acquired item of clothing. Chuck pens that run out of ink or get broken).

3.       Always, ALWAYS be on time.

4.       Follow the dress code to a t (white dress shirt, black trousers, dress shoes ; no flip-flops/sandals allowed, no eccentric jewelry, just a watch or a wedding ring, and of course no piercings when dealing with the clients).

5.       Be polite, even when you’re treated like shit.

6.       And the most important thing of all—have NO LIFE WHATSOEVER. Cause let’s face it, what kinda life are you expected to lead when your day is so monotonous.

Sometimes Loki feels like his life runs in grey, just like an old movie. And he runs in grey, too. More than a little bit depressing cause grey’s a great color, it’s not a glamorous lifestyle.

***

“How come I pay so much interest,” this guy asks him.

Loki adjusts his tie, “can I have your ID again please, sir?”

Punches the numbers in.

Lunch break in—

Checks the clock on the wall over the guy’s shoulder, discreetly.

–twenty.

Running a hand down his lips and chin, Loki reads over the report.

Packed a granola bar this morning. The store didn’t have the brand he likes with the wild berries. This one is just plain. Fucking worse than rabbit food—

“Well.”

Loki takes a sip of water. Grabs a pen and paper.

“See, you’ve deposited quite a large sum of money into your account recently—”

Pretends to write some stuff down. Does a little doodle of a noose instead.

He talks for a whole minute explaining everything the guy wanted to know.

The guy gives him a confused blink, “yeah, no. But how come I’m paying so much interest.”

“Well.”

Loki starts doodling a tree for the noose.

***

The manager isn’t happy with him. So it’s a private convo by a fake planter and an out of order cooler in the hall, just the two of them and a bunch of other tellers passing by, eavesdropping.

“How come Woodsman sees twice the clients you see in an hour.”

How indeed.

The ends of the manager’s moustache have Frappuccino all over them.

Cause Woodsman is rushing it and doing a shitty job, maybe?

“I don’t know, sir,” Loki answers, stabbing his pen’s tip into the meaty center of his palm over and over again, discreetly.

“Well, figure it out. Be like that. No. _Be_ Woodsman.”

Yeah, how about no thank you.

“Yes, sir.”

The manager strides off.

With the planter’s shiny plastic leaves prickling the back of his neck, Loki examines his palm.

Only blue ink, no blood.

Heh.

The pen goes flying to his desk, knocks over a stapler. Useless.

***

Leaning on the wall next to one of the outer ATM machines, Loki unwraps a granola bar.

It’s July, heart of summer, and he’s sweating bad inside his cheap dress shirt.

The wrapper comes off noisily.

The granola bar looks really oily. The almonds look old, with some of them broken to pieces.

He does a little sniff test with his tepid cup of coffee growing cool on the pavement next to his shoe.

Smells like fucking nothing—no traces of sugar, no vanilla extract.

Loki takes a small bite.

Spits it out.

It tastes rancid.

***

Loosens his tie on the bus ride home. Feels like throwing it out the window but people are watching. People are always watching you, no matter what you do.

He tightens it again cause what if they think he’s about to have a heart attack or something.

An older woman eyes him from the other side of the aisle—grave dark irises and rectangle gold earrings, the fortune teller kind.

Loki clears his throat. Checks his watch, putting on an important face.

She looks away.

Red light.

They wait in traffic, the behemoth engine causing Loki’s feet to vibrate inside his shoes.

Loki tightens the tie’s knot a bit more.

Green.

More.

Until he’s starting to sweat at the temples, until he feels like his trachea is about to cave in on itself.

He tilts his head back and slips a finger under the collar. Gives a little tug.

***

Loki irons his other white shirt.

It’s night out and all the windows are open to let the cool air in. He can’t afford the AC.

Empty bedroom behind him. A pale blue mug on the coffee table still smelling of the weak tea he had in the morning.

He’s bent over the ironing board and he almost runs the iron over the tie dangling from his neck cause the end of it rolls across the board.

He pauses. Tosses it over his shoulder. Adjusts his grip round the handle.

He runs the hot iron down the empty left sleeve. The fabric sizzles.

His left arm burns in response.

***

Beginning of August, the bank manager keels over.

“Heart attack,” Woodsman informs Loki, as if someone asked him to.

Loki sits back in his chair, tosses his pen onto the table and presses a fingertip to his upper lip in thought.

He wonders : is it all that coffee that killed him, or that horrid moustache.

***

“You. Come with me.”

Loki has just handed the masked robber a bag full of money, and now he’s being taken hostage. Take that, Woodsman, who’s getting all the attention now.

Coming out from behind the counter, the robber fastens a cable tie around Loki’s wrists. He works fast. One two the cable tie takes a bite of Loki’s flesh and the robber looks into his eyes. And in all his grey, a twinkle of electric blue and it’s like seeing god.

He wraps an arm around Loki from behind and presses the gun just behind Loki’s right ear.

Human shield.

“Let’s go.”

***

Inside the getaway car, the robber takes off his ski mask. A mess of blonde hair falls over his eyes.

They’re speeding through the highway and Loki stares at the upturned nose and the full lips, his hands curled into fists in his lap, tie flying over his shoulder.

The robber keeps a hand on the wheel and with the other pushes the hair back from his face.

He looks at Loki and tugs on the cable tie to make sure it’s fastened tightly enough.

The touch of his strong fingers, the rough feeling of the warm latex between his wrists, feels obscene for some reason. Like a violation. And Loki thinks of them forcing themselves inside him, slow and dry, going deep, stretching.

The sun turns the speeding car into a source of vibrating insufferable heat.

And suddenly Loki realizes.

“I’ve seen your face,” he says.

The robber looks ahead, boot slaying the gas pedal.

A cold tingle in Loki’s veins.

“Now you’ll kill me,” he says, “so I won’t tell on you. Cause I know what you look like.”

The robber doesn’t respond at first.

But then.

“You scared?”

With the wind whipping his hair back from his face, Loki thinks it over.

“I’m not sure,” he replies.

The robber tells Loki his name.

So you’ll know who your executioner is, he explains.

Loki nods slowly, watching the desert replacing the city road.

He brings his wrists to his mouth. Tugs on the plastic with his teeth. Tightens the cable tie until he bleeds.

***

They’re standing out on the road.

The desert around them is blinding white like the light you see before you die.

There’s two cop cars parked next to Thor’s car. Two policemen lie dead on the ground, dust settling in their brows.

Let go of the hostage.

Let. Go. Of. The. Hostage.

Cause it’s Loki in Thor’s arms, a human shield. Thor’s arm crossed over Loki’s neck, tilting his head back. And it’s Thor’s long blonde hair whipping across Loki’s face and it’s the barrel of Thor’s gun pressing into Loki’s right ear and Loki’s heart skips in this stranger’s deadly embrace.

They’re swaying together, losing and regaining their footing on the grey road.

Mouth open, Loki gapes at the skies. Thor’s heart beats against Loki’s spine. Sweat drips off his chin and falls on the side of Loki’s neck.

“You shoot, he gets it!”

Thor jerks Loki back against him and Loki stares the cops in the eye.

The warm barrel in Loki’s sweaty hair. Thor’s breath rushing past his ear.

One policeman reaches for his radio.

Loki whips out the other gun from Thor’s belt.

Cocks it.

Aims.

Shoots.

The policeman drops his radio. Falls dead on the hood of the car, hat toppled over by his feet.

Thor kills the second cop.

Stunned silence.

The sound of the wind scorching the sands like hot oil in a frying pan.

***

With Loki’s hands tied behind his back, Thor fucks him hard. Loki told him to keep the gloves on. He gets to feel them all over his body: between his shoulder blades, on the back of his thighs, on his cock, over his mouth cause the lady at the front desk said we like quiet here if you please.

***

“So I’m keeping you?”

“I don’t know. You want to?”

Loki passes the cigarette back to Thor. They’re smoking on the motel’s floor.

Thor puts it in his mouth, runs a hand down his chest.

“Had someone in prison,” he says, looking into Loki’s eyes, “looked like you. Fucked like you, as well.”

“Did he.”

“Yeah. He never killed someone for me, though. You did. Where’d you learn to shoot like that.”

Loki smiles sideways.

“An old TV show.”

“Ha. What’s it called.”

Loki takes the cigarette from Thor and watches the burning end.

“Time to Fear the Cashier,” he says and puffs on it.


End file.
